


time will prove me true

by Anonymous



Category: Chinese Actor RPF, UNIQ (Band)
Genre: Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:20:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24081214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Sungjoo returns from the military wondering whether he can still call Beijinghome.
Relationships: Kim Sungjoo/Wang Yi Bo
Comments: 3
Kudos: 34
Collections: Anonymous





	time will prove me true

**Author's Note:**

> A good chunk of UNIQ content is sadly inaccessible to me because I don't know enough Mandarin/Korean for it, so I apologise in advance for any inaccuracies ;;

> Moonshine, take us to the stars tonight  
>  Take us to that special place  
>  That place we went the last time, the last time
> 
> – **Moonshine** , Bruno Mars

.

Sungjoo steps off the plane to a brighter world than the one he left behind. The lines are as long as ever, but they flow smoothly to the beat of synthetic voices and the constant hum of machinery behind them. He flashes a smile at the officer who stamps his passport and gets an unimpressed look in return. Well, he’s out of practice. The pair of tourists he apologetically nudges out of the way at the baggage carousel respond in a more positive fashion, giggling behind their hands with slightly widened eyes. Sungjoo scrubs a hand through his cropped hair and scratches the back of his neck, wondering when it’ll grow back to the length it was before he left. He might have to buy more caps.

That makes him think of his voice call with Yibo last night, of the sleepy smile on Yibo’s face as he pulled his mask down to mouth at him, _call me when you get back_. After almost two years of being limited to seeing Yibo through a screen, Sungjoo can’t say his heart isn’t soaring at the prospect of meeting up. A life-sized standee of Yibo fixes him with a plastic smile from the entrance to the chemist’s as he hurries through the sliding doors out of the airport, and he turns back to look at it, contemplates throwing an arm around it and snapping a quick selfie. Before he can approach, though, his line of sight is blocked by a group of young women who raise their cell phones almost scarily in sync with each other.

Sungjoo’s mouth twists up in a helpless smile. He wonders how long those fans have known Yibo for, whether they can spot the arc of Photoshop in the outline of Yibo’s jaw like he can. Then, because he can’t resist, he sidles up next to them and holds his phone up in an identical pose. It takes the group a few seconds to notice, the one closest to him doing a double-take as she registers the presence of someone next to her. Sungjoo beams at her, and she whips back around. Her fingers tighten on her phone for a moment before she asks, “Do you also like Wang Yibo?”

“Very much,” Sungjoo replies, not missing the way her eyes light up at his answer. “He’s talented, isn’t he?”

The rest of the group make noises of assent then, joining in one after the other to profess their love for Yibo. Sungjoo lets their compliments wash over him and feels his heart swell at the confirmation that Yibo is doing well for himself. When he’s waved goodbye to the group of fans and packed himself safely into a taxi, he opens Instagram and types out a short caption: _I’m back_.

He counts at least three billboards with Yibo’s face on them as they drive past various intersections on the way back to his house. Sungjoo catalogues the buildings blurring in the window, some familiar, some not. “That’s Wang Yibo,” he remarks to the driver, a middle-aged man also surnamed Wang. “Do you know him?”

“My wife’s a fan,” Driver Wang says, with the barest hint of bitterness. “She watched one of his dramas a few years ago and now I can’t buy any household products if he hasn’t endorsed them.”

Sungjoo laughs. He rolls down the window, just enough to feel the cool air sting his scalp, and coaxes stories from the unfortunate soul for the rest of the ride.

It takes a few hours for his notifications to blow up properly. In the meantime, Sungjoo takes a trip to the grocery store to restock his fridge and fields messages from his relatives and old acquaintances, thanking them for their concern and promising to organise a catch-up soon. Yixuan is easy; he has always been gentle. “It’s good to have you back,” Yixuan says warmly, his voice wrapping around Sungjoo like a well-loved quilt. “Will you be staying long?”

“I’m not sure,” Sungjoo admits. “The job market’s a bit tough at the moment.” He shares a commiserating chuckle with Yixuan over the line. Of all the members, he knows that Yixuan is the one who understands him the most when it comes to this topic, because Yixuan has felt the same pressure at his back, felt hopes like _future_ and _opportunity_ slip through their fingers and dissolve into the past.

Then again, Yixuan has also told Sungjoo frankly, _I want to have a family_. Before Sungjoo had enlisted, Yixuan had pulled him aside for a drink and a moderately uncomfortable conversation about their respective careers. “I can’t always prioritise this,” Yixuan had said. “I did it for years, and that didn’t work for me.”

“I love performing,” Sungjoo had said, lost, and Yixuan had poured him out another can of beer, patting his knee.

“Me too.”

His memories of the following hours are clouded over by intoxication, but Sungjoo distinctly remembers bawling his eyes out like the pitiful drunk he was, clinging to Yixuan until the sun started to creep up into the sky, bringing with it a throbbing headache. He and Yixuan had exchanged glances as made a tacit promise never to mention this in front of the younger members.

Now, as back then, Yixuan is the one to extend an invitation. “Do you need a place to crash? I won’t be back until late, but I can ask Zheng-jie to drop the key off at the office.”

“Don’t worry,” Sungjoo tells him. “You’re not living along anymore, are you? I’m a considerate guy; I won’t intrude.”

Yixuan laughs awkwardly and begs off a few minutes later. He sounds happier than he had eighteen months ago, though – more settled. Sungjoo supposes that he’s finally found the sense of stability he’d been missing when they were picking up isolated variety shows and music projects.

After Yixuan hangs up, Sungjoo stares blankly at his contact list. He should call Yibo next, like he had promised, but then he thinks of the fans at the airport, and of how Yibo must be in the middle of a schedule at the moment, and he doesn’t particularly want to leave a missed call right now. He doesn’t want to _be_ a missed call.

Wenhan is an acceptable alternative. He’s already sent Sungjoo a message – _Welcome back, bro_ 👊 _Dinner when?_ – so it’s easy to fall back into old, comfortable habits.

 _I’m a busy man_ , Sungjoo texts, _but I’m sure I can fit you in somehow_. Wenhan politely sidesteps his bad joke and lays out a list of dates for him to pick from – Sungjoo chooses the earliest one, of course, and then sends him a picture of the ice-cream he’d found with Wenhan’s face on it. _Heart-throb_ , he teases.

 _Why are they even still selling that_ , Wenhan complains. _I shot that ad at the beginning of the year; you’d better check the expiry date_.

Sungjoo’s fingers falter over the message box. Obviously, he can’t keep track of _all_ his groupmates’ activities, but he still feels cheated somehow, his heart dropping out in a way he’s found harder to ignore over recent years. _Can’t get this in Korea_ , he types, finally. _They must have been waiting for me to get back_.

Wenhan is simple, and sometimes, just sometimes, Sungjoo will admit that he can be genuinely sweet. Besides, they’re both singers – that by definition means they’ve witnessed each other tear up over sentimental lyrics in the privacy of the room they once shared.

 _Us, too_.

 _It’s too early in the day for this sort of emotional honesty_ , Sungjoo thinks, and swipes out of the chat to pester Seungyoun instead.

 _Where’s my standee,_ Seungyoun is demanding, his pout easy to imagine despite the uniform typeface. _You spent all that time in the army and you still have no sense of patriotism?_

Sungjoo snorts. _You’re too ugly to have a standee_.

 _I’m going to post this on Instagram_ , threatens Seungyoun. _I’m going to do it! I have an official fan club now, you know; they’re all going to come and bully you._

 _I’m one of the people in your fan club,_ Sungjoo protests, but he bows his head in apology anyway, filling up the screen with stickers of cartoon characters prostrating themselves. _I was wrong, I was wrong. Forgive me? You’re very cute~_ 🧡. Seungyoun has always been adorable, though his music is shockingly sophisticated; Sungjoo has heard him talk about his composition process on multiple occasions now and he still can’t follow Seungyoun’s vision as he’s speaking, and that can only partially be blamed on Seungyoun’s propensity for illustrating his explanations with incomprehensible sound effects.

 _Flattery_ , Seungyoun accuses. _You’re only after me for my money, I know it. You can’t do aegyo at me when you’re older!_

 _If I were after money, I’d go to Yibo,_ Sungjoo says mercilessly. Seungyoun, indignant, sends him the receipt from his last shopping spree and a twelve-second voice clip of him screeching like a hyena.

.

Sungjoo’s mother is his first fan. She is the one who watches him grow up, straining on his high notes when he tries to copy her, roaring at other children in the playground as he pretends to be a dinosaur. Before he leaves for Anyang, she holds his face in his hands as if memorising his features, but all she tells him is, _work hard_. She cooks him _suyuk_ , arranges the pork slices delicately on the plate and spoons liberal servings of kimchi beside them. The year he becomes a trainee, he can see his whole life ahead of him, and he doesn’t rush, because he is still young, still at the beginning of his journey. He maintains this attitude through the first year of training, and the second, and then the third year passes: Sungjoo gets shuffled around groups like a chess piece; the debut opportunity he’d been anticipating comes and goes without him.

The first time he meets his future groupmates, his heart is thundering in his chest. His voice falls slightly flat on the high note of his performance piece, and he flushes with shame after, pasting a bright smile onto his face as a pre-emptive shield against their mentors’ criticism. A young, lanky boy with white-blonde hair startles for some reason, pinning Sungjoo with a gaze too intense for the age he appears. He is the next to step up, his body twisting into captivating lines as he stands. “Hello everyone, I’m Wang Yibo.” The boy licks his teeth, then shakes out his shoulders. _He’s a dancer_ , Sungjoo realises, which should have been obvious from the moment the boy had moved.

The beat kicks in. Yibo drops into a crouch and flings out his arms, spinning with such force it knocks the breath from Sungjoo’s lungs. He’s _good_ , the kind of good that sends Sungjoo into a mild panic because Yibo is definitely younger than him, and so fashionable, and handsome to top it all off. Sungjoo feels he’ll have to train for at least a year before he can have the confidence to stand and dance with Yibo.

In the middle of the song, Yibo’s eyes snap up from the ground. They fixate on a spot on the back wall, behind Sungjoo’s head, and for one burning moment Sungjoo wants to physically grab Yibo’s head and turn it to him. He doesn’t want to wait anymore; whether he is ready or not, he wants to perform with this boy.

Wenhan thinks that Sungjoo’s attempts to befriend Yibo are terribly embarrassing. He’s correct, but Sungjoo also thinks that Wenhan’s terrible impressions are equally embarrassing, so they’re all equally lame. Over the course of countless practices and “bonding moments”, Sungjoo finds that Yibo is beautifully responsive to praise and distressingly susceptible to bad influences such as Seungyoun. It’s a bit galling to realise that in spite of all the attention Sungjoo piles on him, Yibo will never laugh for him as easily as he does for Seungyoun.

“Don’t be jealous,” Yixuan says fondly. “It’ll make your face look even uglier.”

“Don’t be jealous,” Seungyoun echoes, plopping his feet in Yibo’s lap. “I’m just cooler than you.”

Sungjoo has the _worst_ bandmates, and he loves them like family. When they finally stand on stage together in 2014, Sungjoo looks out at the crowd and lets his imagination run wild with all the fantasies he’d been trying to restrain while their debut was still an uncertainty.

Reality, of course, is different. They perform well and their popularity grows steadily, but they don’t earn actual money for longer than Sungjoo had expected. He looks expensive on stage, but at night he rotates between the same set of worn singlets and shorts until Seunyoun starts calling him an uncle from the markets. Every time he calls his mother, she tells him, _well done_ , but also, _you can always come home if you need to rest_. Sungjoo learns that acting can be as satisfying as singing, but doing his best in one role doesn’t necessarily equate to more jobs. Bruno Mars never rings Yuehua to tell them what an inspiration he thinks that kid named Kim Sungjoo is.

He’s tired.

Out of all of them, while Seungyoun is undeniably the person who falls in love the easiest, Sungjoo thinks he is the most devoted. He scrolls through fan reactions on Weibo, saving fanart and skimming the search results looking for the sort of interactions their fans want to see. He genuinely wants to spoil their fans, because that’s something he _can_ do to thank them. He thinks he does a pretty good job of it most of the time, but then there are times he offers and the fans don’t accept; Sungjoo doesn’t understand that.

“You’re too obvious about it,” Yibo says, when Sungjoo brings it up during their designated ‘talk about your feelings’ time. “It doesn’t feel real, so you just come off as desperate.”

Sungjoo winces, then tackles Yibo to shut him up. “Say that again,” he threatens – Yibo, because he’s a brat, _does_ , and the resulting brawl concludes the same way it always does: with long, variably reluctant hugs all-round.

So Sungjoo doesn’t always understand how to make people happy, but he does try his best. He thinks he’s doing an okay job of it, too, until one day they’re filming a question-and-answer segment and Yibo admits to feeling awkward around him. Sungjoo manages to laugh it off during the actual interview, but later he flops down onto the sofa and wonders how Yibo can still feel awkward around him when all Sungjoo wants is for them to have a comfortable relationship. Wenhan pats him roughly on the shoulder on the way past; Seungyoun jumps onto his back and starts shaking him like a ragdoll; all this does is cause Sungjoo to wonder how they have more comfortable relationships with Yibo than he does when _they’re_ the weird and awkward ones.

In the end, Sungjoo can’t wait until the next ‘talk about your feelings’ meeting to bring it up with Yibo. He catches his wrist after dinner over the weekend, tugging Yibo back into the chair. “Do you really feel awkward around me?”

Yibo’s eyes dart to the side, which is answer enough for Sungjoo. “Well, I do _now_ ,” he says, his tone falling just short of a whine. “Don’t get all mushy like Xuan-ge.”

“If I were mushy like Xuan-ge, would you be less awkward with me?”

“ _No,_ ” Yibo says emphatically. “You’d just be even more lame than you already are.” He catches Sungjoo’s crestfallen look and sighs, sweeping his hair up and back out of his eyes. The other three have helpfully vacated the kitchen, leaving the two of them to fumble their way through this conversation to the best of their ability. Sungjoo can _see_ the frustration working its way across Yibo’s mouth as he struggles to explain the fundamental issue with their relationship.

“You don’t have to worry about hurting my feelings,” Sungjoo coaxes, in case that’s what Yibo is reluctant to explain. Yibo has one of the softest hearts of anyone Sungjoo has ever met. He grits his teeth and smiles – encouragingly, he hopes. “We need to communicate to make ourselves better.”

This is one of their trademarks – within the strange mix of Mandarin, Korean, and occasionally English that they use with each other, UNIQ has always prioritised communication. Seungyoun is adamant that disputes should be resolved by talking things out and solving the problem together, and Sungjoo knows that Yibo feels the same.

Yibo scrunches his face up. “That’s not it,” he says impatiently. “Why do you always – It’s the way you look at me sometimes. It’s – too much, when we’re alone.”

“I don’t understand.” Sungjoo leans forward, reaching out to grasp Yibo’s elbows.

“Desperate,” Yibo scoffs, his cheeks blooming with colour, and Sungjoo is the one who has to look away this time. Yibo heaves another deep sigh and shakes out of Sungjoo’s grasp. “You’re usually so bright and lively,” he explains, stumbling over the words. “You’re better at – at talking, than me, but then you say I’m funny, or you look at me like you expect me to say something when I don’t – when that’s not my thing.” He picks at his nails nervously. “I’m not as good as you think.”

Sungjoo’s heart melts for him. He scoops Yibo into his arms, cautious, waiting to be pushed away, but Yibo simply brings his own arms up. He wraps them around Sungjoo’s back tentatively, his fingers pressing lightly into Sungjoo’s waist. “I won’t argue with you tonight,” Sungjoo says, “but I want you to know that you could never disappoint me.”

.

It’s hard to say for sure, but Sungjoo strongly suspects that his favourite brand of instant ramen has changed their recipe. The secret “flavouring” is sweeter than he remembers, and the packaging has changed, too. He’s cracking an egg into his second attempt at staving off his hunger and he still hasn’t called Yibo.

He’s posted a picture of Yibo’s cutout on Instagram; there really isn’t anything to get so worked up about. They spoke _yesterday_ , and Sungjoo had been perfectly normal. The thing is, Sungjoo is self-aware. He has perfected the art of loving deeply from a distance and becoming an utter coward when he’s in a position to act, and his time away from Beijing has only made that trait worse.

Sungjoo is afraid of figuring out exactly when he fell in love with Yibo. He suspects he’s been in trouble longer than he thinks, and he worries that Yibo has picked up on his messy infatuation. As a young boy, Sungjoo had imagined falling in love with a sweet, pretty girl – a girl with dainty hands who got along well with his mother and wept delicately in his arms when he sang to her on their anniversaries.

Yibo has large, bony hands. He coughs derisively when he thinks Sungjoo is talking nonsense. He doesn’t cry when Sungjoo sings; his kisses are spontaneous, messy, and usually conclude with Yibo hiding his face in embarrassment. His style has changed from their debut days – his photoshoots have matured with him. He still plays pranks on his friends and cackles when his traps are sprung. Yibo is growing into a different world from Sungjoo, whose biggest performance over the past two years was at makeshift karaoke with the rest of his squadron.

 _#Welcome Back Sungjoo#_ is trending at thirty-sixth place on Weibo when he finally looks. The hashtag warms his heart. He hasn’t managed to become the great influence he’d initially dreamed of becoming, but there are people who loved him – who still love him. He glances idly at the top of the trends list, and then his heart drops back to subzero degrees: the top trending hashtag right now is _#Wang Yibo Calls Out Kim Sungjoo#_. He fumbles to click into Yibo’s profile and sees that Yibo has tagged him in a post with an old picture of the two of them attached. The caption is simple: _@UNIQ-Kim Sungjoo Broke his promise, didn’t call me_ 🥺 _._

Suddenly, Sungjoo feels like a criminal. He picks up his phone and navigates to Yibo’s contact card on autopilot. “I was wrong,” he blurts out, the moment Yibo’s face comes into view.

Yibo raises an eyebrow. “No excuse?” Then he peers at Sungjoo and his expression softens. “You look like shit,” he declares. “Have you slept?”

“It’s still early in the evening,” Sungjoo says, shaking his head. “Sorry to call so late – I got back home and it completely slipped my mind.”

Yibo looks like he wants to argue, but after a moment he presses his lips together unhappily and nods, a threat of hurt winding through his creased brows. Sungjoo doesn’t know how to explain that it’s easier for him to look up videos on the internet than call, because he doesn’t have the heart to demand time from Yibo when everybody else is already demanding so much of him.

“Whatever.” Yibo fixes his gaze on Sungjoo. “I was going to invite you for dinner, but you’ve probably eaten already, so you should just come over.”

The past few times Sungjoo had gone for a meal with Yibo, back in 2019, Yibo had insisted on footing the bill. “Let me spend my money, _da zhu zi_ ,” Yibo had said in response to Sungjoo’s protest, laughing smugly.

“Then when I become an A-list actor, you have to let me treat you, okay?” He means it as a joke made to salvage the last shreds of his dignity, but Yibo had looked at him with beautiful, tender eyes and accepted Sungjoo’s conditions. Every time Sungjoo remembers that look, he thinks of Yibo sitting with his hands in his lap, telling him, _I’m not as good as you think I am_. Sungjoo feels the same way, catapulting towards thirty while working less days than he has off.

“Won’t you be tired tomorrow?” he asks, just to be sure. It’s not as if Yibo will say, _Actually, hyung, you’re right, and I retract my earlier invitation._ Yibo has never been _callous_.

“It’s no problem.” Yibo regards him with that same soft, tender look and tilts his head a fraction to the right. “I’ve really missed you.”

Sungjoo is going to be the very first person in history to die by maknae-induced heart attack. “I’ve missed you too,” he says, bumbling and awkward. Yibo spares him a laugh before blowing a quick kiss, and if the last attack hadn’t been enough to finish him off, Sungjoo would be well and truly buried by now.

Given the instant noodles were a bit of a flop, Sungjoo stops by KFC to grab a bucket before heading to Yibo’s. The house at least is similar to the last time Sungjoo had visited, albeit now with about double the number of skateboards and a marked increase in LEGO models. There’s a packet of cards on the floor in the living room, and Sungjoo remembers their raucous nights of Pig and Old Maid back at the dorm. He’s aware that Yibo has taken up learning magic; sometimes when Yibo video calls he’ll show Sungjoo one of the tricks he’s been practicing.

“It’s a bit like a showcase,” Sungjoo comments, wandering over to the cabinet encasing Yibo’s helmet collection. “Really cool.”

Yibo glows at the praise, pointing out each of his new acquisitions to Sungjoo. Eventually they manage to complete the house tour and empty out the bucket of fried chicken, and Sungjoo drops back onto the couch, fiddling idly with the remote. “Go ahead and make yourself at home,” Yibo complains, though he sounds more pleased than offended. They fall into a companionable silence as Sungjoo browses skateboarding highlights to watch. Yibo curls up facing him to provide live commentary, his hand gestures growing more expansive as his excitement rises. He explains everything so seriously, with the utmost attention to detail; it’s no wonder he’s so popular with the trainees at Yuehua. He’s an excellent teacher, one who leads by example – Sungjoo can see the next stage of Yibo’s life unfold in his mind, filled with even more light and laughter than the current one. He’s glad for his friend.

The video currently playing draws to a close. Sungjoo takes the opportunity to lift his arm from where it’s slung around Yibo’s still-slender shoulders and stretch out. “Well – ” he starts.

“Wait,” Yibo says, before Sungjoo can commence his spiel on how _this has been a really nice night, thank you, but oh, look at the time; wouldn’t it be better if I made my way home now_. Sungjoo takes a very careful breath as Yibo shifts closer and nestles into his side. His heartbeat starts to quicken; Sungjoo can swear he hears _Falling in Love_ fade in as background music, and he pauses briefly to wonder whether their early interviews have given him permanent trauma.

Yibo’s ears are bright red, poking out from under his soft hair. He doesn’t say anything else; he doesn’t need to. Sungjoo lived with him long enough to know what Yibo’s form of affection-seeking looks like. He runs his fingers lightly through Yibo’s hair, thumbing down the back of his head and resting his palm against Yibo’s neck. Yibo hooks their ankles together, angling his head to look Sungjoo in the eye.

“It’s my turn to ask,” he begins, and Sungjoo blinks in confusion before Yibo continues, “Do you feel awkward around me now?”

Sungjoo’s hand spasms. “Why would you ask that?”

He’s ashamed of how small his voice sounds – like he’s admitting to it, even if he hasn’t answered the question. He draws his arm back, but Yibo hauls himself up and rolls, trapping Sungjoo on the couch under him. “It’s okay.”

Sungjoo can’t help laughing at that, passing his hand over his eyes as if that’ll shield him from Yibo’s judgement. “It’s really not,” he says wryly. “You deserve better.”

Yibo shrugs. “I think I’m doing pretty well, to be honest.” He flashes a quick smile and tugs Sungjoo’s hand away from his face. “You were right, you know. I can do more than I thought I could.”

“Of course you can.” Sungjoo squeezes his hand affectionately. “You work hard.”

“So do you,” Yibo insists. He’s really getting too close now, and Sungjoo’s brain isn’t functional enough to warn him. “Listen – you believed in me and looked after me when we debuted, and it felt a bit weird sometimes, but I was grateful to you. Let me be that person for you now.”

“That was because I wanted to,” Sungjoo argues.

Yibo sticks his lip out stubbornly. “I want to.” He looks adorable, and Sungjoo might possibly lose to the temptation of leaning in and nibbling on that lip if Yibo doesn’t put it away soon.

“It’s not the same.”

“Why not?” Yibo challenges. “Because you think it’s too late for you to become anyone worth my time? Because you think I don’t – _love_ you…as much as you love me? If so, you’re wrong.”

Sungjoo visibly flinches back. “Yibo, wait, wait a second – ”

“I missed you every day you were gone,” Yibo confesses, his voice growing thick. “It felt so final – like you were saying goodbye, and you didn’t even tell me first.”

There’s nothing Sungjoo can say to that except apologise. He’d thought, after speaking with Yixuan, that he’d clarified his goals. He still loves the stage too much to give it up; he loves China – it’s as much his home country as Korea. He just hadn’t been sure there was anything left for him in a country that didn’t even want to give him a platform to prove himself.

“I know it’s selfish,” Yibo continues. “I know it’s not ideal. But the borders are starting to open up again; we still have fans waiting for us. Don’t come back just to say goodbye.”

Sungjoo is only human. He's not the sharpest tool in the shed, but it's not like he can't take a hint, especially not one that's practically been laid out in front of him like this. “It’s been hard on you,” he says, pulling Yibo closer. Yibo’s breath falls hot on his; he tastes like oil and fried chicken, which doesn’t exactly make for the most romantic of kisses, though neither of them have the presence of mind to care. They’ve kissed before, casually, joking around with each other away from the prying eyes of the cameras; Sungjoo’s kiss count with Wenhan and Seungyoun is probably going to stay higher than his count with Yibo for a while yet.

They’ve never even touched like this before, holding tight because they don’t want to let go, barely daring to move for fear that they’ll disturb the understanding between them. Sungjoo is the first to shake himself out of his reverie; he pinches the back of Yibo’s neck and presses one last kiss to the corner of his mouth as he draws away.

He means to say, _I love you_ , but what spills out of his scrambled mouth instead is, “You love me.”

Yibo rolls his eyes and loops his arms around Sungjoo’s neck. “Lame,” he says, fondly. “It’s not news.”

“It’s news to _me_ ,” Sungjoo says defensively. Quietly, he adds, “I love you too.”

Yibo rolls his eyes again. “That's not news either,” he mutters. “ _Ugh_ , whatever. As long as you get it now.”

**Author's Note:**

> NO PLOT JUST SUNGJOO AND YIBO CUDDLING but just quietly thinking about sungjoo's big massive affection for yibo and yibo coming to appreciate that more as he gets older AND both of them thinking the other can light up the world (idk if that came across in the fic but it's what i was thinking about at least!)
> 
> I couldn't resist name-dropping [Sungjoo's song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8J7VeNDDY1w) with "As long as you get it now."... This whole fic is sort of influenced by the themes of that song, specifically the idea of "clumsy love" and "I want to give you the best love in the world" (again, did it come across in the fic? probably not!! but still)


End file.
